


I still love you

by Vaysh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alford Ocamy Series, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, M/M, Muggle England has been taken over by a fascist Nationalist Party, Remix, spray painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10078352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/pseuds/Vaysh
Summary: Each member of the Resistance is issued a can of spray paint. Raph uses his to send a message to Alford.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frayach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Price We Pay for Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/608957) by [Frayach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach). 



> This remix was written for the [Appreciation Fest](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com/tag/fest%3A%20appreciation), hosted by the LiveJournal community [Serpentinelion](http://serpentinelion.livejournal.com). It will not make much sense if you don't know "The Price We Pay For Wings".

> The writer stills his hands and closes his eyes, recalling for a moment the heavy, rocking sway of the car as it streaked past fields and housing estates, intermittent stations appearing now and again – strategically placed reminders that constant motion is not the natural state of human existence, and that stillness is the real reward for a life worth living. As the train slowed on its approach to the cities in its path, he’d glimpsed things he’d never seen before: tiny back gardens with clothes lines strung from wall to wall like sutured wounds; the rear entrances of factories and warehouses where middle-aged women gathered on their breaks to smoke and watch the trains rumble past; the trash strewn embankments and graffiti covered underpasses – the white paint of _I still love you_ , appearing suddenly in the gloom like a subtitle on a foreign Muggle film or a line forgotten by the actors, scrawled in panic by the stage director on a cue card.
> 
> from Frayach's "The Price We Pay For Wings"

* * *

 

The Resistance moved toward London. The fascist Nationalists ruled both Houses, with Lord Ocamy the Leader's (how Raph hated that capital L!) right hand in the House of Lords. But behind closed doors people provided the rebels with food, money and warm clothes as winter approached. The yellow star had long become much more than a reclaimed symbol of Jewish pride and survival; it had become the symbol of all of the Resistance. 

Raph was housed with a family living on the outskirts of London. They had known his parents; the woman had told him tearfully that Raph had his mother's eyes (no news to Raph who had heard this all his life, even his cruel foster parents had gushed about the emerald green of his mother's eyes). His friends were sleeping in the big bed, and Raph had taken the folding cot by the door. It was easy for him to get up, gather his clothes and boots without waking anyone, and sneak out into the cold night.

It was a dangerous, a dumb thing to do, but Raph needed to do a dumb and dangerous thing. It had been weeks since he'd last heard from Alford, and the others had given up all hope that the son of the mighty Lord Ocamy would defect to their side. But Raph knew Alford would come to them, knew it like the tingling on his lips, from Alford's last kiss, so long ago it seemed like years (it was seven months, only _seven_ months) when they had kissed at the blue mountain lake. 

It was hard to keep up hope for seven months, without a single word or sign from Alford. Raph walked down the street, he gulped down the cold air. He passed the row of small workers' houses, a bus stop, a low factory building. His steps seemed loud in the night. In the deep pocket of his parka, his half-full can of spray paint rattled softly and metallic. Before him the railway embankment rose. When they had arrived this afternoon, they had heard the trains thunder by from the back garden. Now Raph could smell the railway tracks – urine, rusted iron, oil. He thought of Alford as he had last seen him, on a newspaper picture. Dressed all in black, with the insignia of the Nationalist youth militia on his shirt. His eyes had been hard and his lips tight. Raph knew Alford's eyes were only that hard when he was holding back tears. 

The street turned into an underpass, leading to the other side of the railway tracks. In the dim light Raph could make out the graffiti on the tiled walls. As he stood before the tunnel a car started two streets down. A child cried softly in a house nearby. From far away a train was approaching. Raph could already feel the hopeful trembling of the railway tracks above.

He pulled out the spray can; shook it twice, hard. The sound rang out clear and sharp into the night but Raph didn't think anyone was listening. He wrote the words on the dirty tiles, one foot high, evenly spaced, distinct letters, as they had learned to spray their slogans in the Resistance. But he did not spray _Fight Nationalist Bigotry Every Step Of The Way!_ on the wall. 

In the distance the lights of the train were already sweeping across the embankment. Time to go. Raph capped the can, dropped it into his pocket and walked away from the underpass, his steps fast and steady – an early worker on the way to his job, a stroller who couldn't find sleep. 

He was at the factory when the train rushed by, and he turned to catch the blur of lighted windows in the dark silhouette of the compartments, the white paint of _I still love you_ appearing suddenly in the gloom. Most likely Alford would never see it (but someone else did, in another universe). But Raph felt lighter as he walked back with a spring to his steps. They would keep on fighting. And he would keep on waiting for Alford. A bird chirped sleepily in the hedge at the side of the street. Not much longer, Raph thought, not much longer now.  



End file.
